Wings
by Greenninja77
Summary: Short thing based on this text post from tumblr; what if cas died in dean's arms and he had scorched wing marks on his skin for the rest of his life. One Shot. Rated for language. Dean W./Castiel (lightly implied Destiel). Demon!Dean.


**This was just a short little thing based off of a tumblr text post which basically said; What if Cas died in Dean's arms and left wing scars on his chest for the rest of his life. So this is pretty much what happened. I don't know if I like it or not, so please leave a comment on your thoughts! Other than that, enjoy! **

**Note: Girl in Place of an Angel will update soon, I swear. I just sent the chapter off to my beta literally two minutes ago and then I'll put it up as soon as I hear back from her!**

Sam had tried everything.

He'd spent weeks trying to find a cure– one that wouldn't kill him. He had called Cas for help and together they'd poured over every possible book in the bunker. Nothing. On top of that, he saw what was happening to Cas. It didn't go unnoticed how the angel seemed to be getting progressively weaker and weaker. Or how Sam would sometimes catch him dozing off. Cas' grace was slowly depleting and the younger Winchester was starting to get desperate.

Dean, however, didn't see the problem.

Things weren't so bad. Hell, it was fucking awesome for him. He could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. Aside from the occasional job he did for Crowley, he didn't have rules or responsibilities to hold him back anymore. He just didn't care.

That was the best part.

He didn't care. He didn't worry. He didn't feel _anything_. Demons don't feel. If he had known what it was like, he would have gladly accepted a pair of black eyes long ago.

Only, then there _was_ a problem.

He was summoned.

Dean growled under his breath. Whoever was responsible, he was going to rip out their throat. He _hated_ being summoned. Something about him– maybe the Mark, maybe his vessel– didn't like being summoned. He would be jolted away from whatever he was doing. It felt like being punched in the gut by a battering ram.

Then he saw who had summoned him.

Then, he saw who was staggering next to him.

"Dean," his brother's voice called out frantically and Dean was at his side in an instant, supporting the angel fully. Castiel leaned heavily against him and Dean saw it, his stomach dropping.

His grace was nearly gone.

Dean was always secretly jealous of his grace. Even if it was stolen. It was bright and pure– nothing like his dark self. But it wasn't even the celestial pureness of grace that stunned him into awe. It was _Cas'_ grace. The warmth and love that always radiated from it, even from across the room. And the _color_– Dean shuddered. It was as bright and radient as the angel's eyes. It made him wonder about the eyes being the doorway to the soul.

It made him wonder how _he_ looked to Cas.

The things that were supposed to repulse Dean, intrigued him. He couldn't help but feel that he was different and broken, even as a demon. A demon could be a fuckup too. Who knew.

"Dean," a voice croaked, pulling him back to reality. He adjusted his grip as the angel leaned on him with his full weight.

"Yeah, Cas. I'm right here, buddy." Slowly and with great effort, his eyes focused on Dean, "You can see it, can't you?"

"Hey, this," Dean hesitantly put his hand on Cas' chest where the last bits of his grace burned dimly, "This is nothing, alright? You're gonna be fine– you hear me?"

"Dean, I don't think..." He wavered slightly, eyes drooping, then fell forward. Dean barely caught him and Cas started to sink down against the ground, gripping fistfuls of Dean's shirt to pull him down with him.

Dean looked down at the angel now lying in his lap. His eyes were starting to glaze over and Dean knew this was it.

Always the adiós.

"Dean, I," Cas struggled as he reached to press his hand against the side of Dean's neck. His eyes suddenly flashed with rememberance and he pushed with what little strength he had left against Dean's chest, "Dean! Dean, no! I can't..."

"Hey, hey, Cas, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Dean could feel his little brother's eyes on him as sorrow and pain filled his voice but he didn't care. He just didn't want to lose Cas– he didn't want to lose his angel.

"Dean," Cas sobbed weakly, "Dean you... Can't... My– my wings."

"Cas? Cas!"

"My... Wings... Dea–"

There was an intense, blinding flash of light and Dean screamed in pain.

He didn't even notice the wing shaped scars that were now permanently burned against his chest.

"Cas?"

He knew he wasn't going to get an answer ever again.

"Castiel!"

Pain and anger and sorrow radiated through his body as he bowed his head to rest his forehead against the fallen angel's. He was a demon, he wasn't supposed to _feel_.

Yet he did.

He felt painfully human and for the first time in a very long time, a tear slid down his cheek.


End file.
